I'm Spiderman
by Kat23a
Summary: A Spiderman story that does not actually feature Peter Parker. I wrote this for a fiction writing class, but it's too good to not share! I can't tell you too much about it without giving it away, but it's short! C'mon, read it! How bad can it be?


If I owned Spiderman, or any of the Marvel universe, I would be a lot happier and richer than I am now, most likely  
  
  
-- ~ --  
  
I swear, if I hear so much as ONE more word about that two-bit, web-brained circus escapee, I was gonna-  
"Dude! Look, it's Spiderman!!"  
OH, that was it. I ignored the gawking hippie that had just brought to my attention that the webhead was once again out and about, and pushed myself away from the cafe table. I ignored the extra-rare hamburger lying on the plate, still untouched. I had suddenly lost my appetite.  
  
"Spiderman, really? Where?!"  
  
". . .just went that way, I think he had a woman in his arms.."  
  
". . .heard that. . .trouble on fifth avenue. . ."  
  
". . .can't believe. . .Spiderman!"  
  
I swear, you've never seen such a bunch of drooling mongoloid groupies. You'd think they'd seen some sort of passing miracle, instead of a loudmouthed genetic aberration wearing enough spandex to outfit the entire U.S. Gymnastic team.  
  
I threw a ten-dollar bill on the table and got out of there, pulling my hat down so far it nearly touched my sunglasses. How could old Spider-butt stand it? The light seemed to make my every sense scream for cover. I pushed past another group of gawkers on the sidewalk and headed towards home. Or at least, the place I called home now. After my little "accident" with Ms. Gregory, I had to find a new place to live, very quickly. The abandoned studio was the best I could get. Nail a few windows up, bring in a lamp and a rug or two, and it was downright homey. Yeah, right.  
  
I turned right a few blocks down, and the scenery got distinctly crummier. The people walking here tended to move quickly, looking at the ground. More often than not, they'd yelp when you bumped into them. At least it was better than the brainless gits staring after the arachnid Tarzan.   
  
I should probably consider myself lucky; I'm one of the few who know what happened to that guy to make him what he is. Back when I was working for Oscorp, one of their projects involved the genetic recombination of simple animals. Namely, spiders. They were simple creatures that the scientists could experiment on all they wanted without getting those insane animal rights people on their backs. What was kept from the public, though, was that a secondary goal of the project was to determine if some of the attributes of an animal could be transferred to a human. They had a few breakthroughs, and most of the scientists were pretty sure that some attributes could be transferred through fluid injection, such as through a bite or blood transfusion. The main problem they had was that they couldn't control WHICH attributes were passed along.  
  
One more turn, this one to the left, and home sweet home was almost in sight. Garbage littered the street, a baby screamed in the arms of an obviously stoned mother sitting on the sidewalk, and some idiot teen had toneless music blasting from his window. I had to get a new place. And damn if I wasn't getting hungry. That juicy burger was sounding pretty good again.  
  
I didn't know the exact science behind the whole spider project. Actually, I wasn't supposed to know as much as I did, but I like eavesdropping. And most people didn't even notice me; I was just the guy who fed the spiders and kept the machinery clean. Kind of an exalted janitor. I was there the day one of the experimental spiders got loose. That had to be the day Spiderman was born; there was no other logical way. I don't know which group the pre-Spidie was in, but he was there. That day was a busy one; seventeen tours in all. Five for tourists, three businesses, eight foreign companies, one private industry, and a school group. Sheesh.  
  
A fly levitated up from a pile of garbage near my feet and lazily made a few circuits around my head as I passed the stoned mother. I snapped up a hand and grabbed it. Stupid thing. After pausing a moment, I popped it in my mouth. Hell, I was hungry, and I doubted it was carrying the plague. Plus, I liked the slightly terrified look the stoned mom was giving me. I waved cheerily at her and kept walking.  
  
No one realized that the spider had actually escaped until it was nearly time to go. Every department thought that one of the other departments had it. Finally, someone realized that the door to that particular spider's cube wasn't closed all the way. When the hubbub died down, the general consensus was that I had been careless at the last feeding time and had let a several billion dollar project escape. Bye-bye job. Lucky they didn't have any proof of their theory, or I'd have been much worse than simply fired.  
  
As it was, I was given one chance for redemption, since no one else was willing to stay late. I was supposed to somehow find the spider that night. If I did, I wouldn't get my job back, but I'd get a very nice severance package. Yippee. I stayed. I needed all the money I could get.   
  
Do you know how fucking hard it is to find a single spider in one of the largest genetics labs in the world?  
  
To this day, I don't know how I did it, but I did. It was around 4:00am, and I was about ready to kill the guy who said that this was the way I could redeem myself. I was sticking the broom under the microscope cupboards, and out runs the fifteen billion dollar spider. I grabbed that sucker so fast it was lucky I didn't squish it. I ran back to the spider cubes and got it back in, and made sure all the doors were shut this time.  
  
Somewhere in the middle of all that, the little bastard bit me.  
  
I was nearly to my front door now, and wondering where supper would come from. I thought I still had some sausages left in the- someone screamed. A woman, it sounded like. I smiled. Maybe I wouldn't have to rely on the sausages tonight. I ran towards the sound.  
  
By the time I got home that night, I was feeling woozy. At first I thought it was just from working until 4:30am trying to track down a moving object less than an inch across, but in a few minutes I knew it was worse than that. I crashed on the couch; couldn't even make it to my bed.  
  
The first thing I noticed the next day was that my legs were a lot hairier.   
  
"OhGodOhnoOhGodPLEASE!"  
  
The sounds were coming from a dark alley. Why is it always a dark alley? Do these women have no sense? Although I shouldn't complain, the lady was doing me a favor. I stepped in front of the alley. The man leaning over the sprawled woman jerked his head up, still keeping one hand on the woman's neck. He pointed the gun at me.  
  
"This ain't your problem! Get out of here, fucker, or I'll kill you!"  
  
The woman screamed louder, and the man squeezed her neck a little more. I leaped up high, higher than any human should. I heard the man swear and start shooting, but he was too late. I landed squarely on his back, slamming his head against the ground and knocking the gun out of his hand. The woman gave a thin shriek and backpedaled away. I looked at her.  
  
"Lady, get out of here. You probably aren't gonna like what happens next."  
  
She stared at me for a moment, then ran.  
  
Like I said before, the biggest problem with the spider project was that there was no way of knowing which attributes would be passed along. If you had incredible amounts of dumb luck, you could get something like the proportionate strength and reflexes of a spider and the ability to stick to walls (something which I'd never been able to do), or you could get four insectoid arms, the digestive system of a spider, and spinnerettes in your butt to make webs like the one I was wrapping this thug in right now.  
  
It felt good to let my other arms out. They were getting cramped inside my shirt. Not to mention six arms makes short work. By then end of five minutes, the guy was nicely trussed up in his own little cocoon, with only his head sticking out.  
  
The real problem with getting the digestive system of a spider is that you also get the appetite of a spider. They need to eat quite often. And I don't know about other spiders, but I tend to get extra-hungry when I'm annoyed. Ms. McGregory was always so pushy about rent.   
  
"Uhhhnnnn. . . ."  
  
Ah. Sleeping beauty awakens. The man groaned and blinked his eyes open blearily. It took him a few seconds to realize what his situation was.   
  
"What the fu. . .lemme out!"  
  
"Oh, my. Whatever happened to all that bravado?"  
  
I strode forward casually. I'd taken my sunglasses off, and saw his terrified face reflected thousands of times in my compound eyes. By the growing look of horror, it seemed that he noticed the eyes, too.  
  
"Wha-who are you?"  
  
I knelt down in front of him, and feigned surprise at his question.  
  
"Who am I?"  
  
I smiled widely, letting him see the insectiod fangs that I was about to sink into his neck.  
  
"I'm Spiderman." 


End file.
